


Save a horse...

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clothing Kink, Cowboy Hats, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Uniform Kink, Wall Sex, cowboy sex, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know Sammy's got a thing for outfits...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save a horse...

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song Save a horse, Ride a cowboy by Big and Rich and this icon present  also in honor of stir_of_echoes birthday which is tomorrow :D 
> 
> There is no plot here!

Sam's been doing the obligatory 'rip-it-out-your-bro' bit since they got back from 1861.

When your usually steely cool and calm big brother flashes his geek it's only right and proper to ridicule and poke fun.

That doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking about Dean wearing _that_ hat, cowboy boots, thigh holster and nothing else whilst slamming him up against the side of the Impala.

He's had 'Save a horse-Ride a cowboy' running through his head on a loop for the last three days and Dean's starting to look at him funny.

"Dude, what you grinning at?"

Sam evens out his features and shrugs, projects innocence and nonchalance, despite the very appealing image of Dean, butt naked except for his gun belt and a set of genuine leather boots, ghosting behind his eyes, "Nothing man, still a little jazzed from meeting Colt."

Dean arches a brow and shakes his head, "Uhuh..."

He's not fooled. He knows Sammy's got a thing for _outfits_.

He didn't miss the dazed dewy eyed look on his little brother's face when he'd walked down the stairs at Bobby's in full on cowboy garb. He'd covered it well, coughed and laughed his ass off, but Dean knows all too well how hot Sam gets when they have to don uniforms or outfits for jobs.

The day they first visited Max Miller is still one of Dean's favourite memories. In spite of the tragic turn of events, Sam's idea of getting into character will go down in history in Dean's long list of strange hook-ups as one of his kinkiest. 

_Forgive me father for I **have** sinned_!

Sam watches Dean watching him and knows he's totally busted. Doesn't mean he's going to admit it, "What! You telling me you _didn't_ get a kick out of it?"

Dean grins and pops the top on his beer, "I _didn't_ meet him. You did. Made quite an impression too if the hundred and fifty year old FedEx is anything to go by. You sure you just discussed the phoenix..."

Sam chokes on a mouthful of Bud and thumps himself on the chest, "Ewww Dean, the guy was like a cross between a drunk and a tramp, an old drunk. Just 'cos I'm weird enough to wanna fuck you doesn't mean I like care in the community cases."

Dean smirks at Sam's disgusted look and nods to himself, _Well played_. Whilst Dean checks his e-mail for any red flags, a plan forms that has him hiding a grin behind his beer bottle, "Fancy a night off Sammy? It's not like we haven't earned it."

Sam nods and smiles at the thought of a relaxing night without getting sliced up or slimed on, "Sounds like a plan, what you thinking?"

"Nothing special, beer and bad porn?"

Sam has to stop himself making some asinine comment about Dean's choice in chilled activities and gives his brother the thumbs up before grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam's sat on a ratty couch in some back end of no where motel, flicking through x-rated pay-per-hour channels.

Dean's been gone for about half an hour, on the hunt for bad road food and more beer.

Sam's thinking about hopping in the shower whilst he waits when he hears the lock click, "Dean, it's about time man, I was ready to chew my own arm off. Hope you remembered the popcorn."

Sam swings his gaze to the front door and feels all the blood drain from his face, "Wha..."

Dean's stood in the doorway, stetson hat angled over his face, long grey ranch coat buttoned all the way down to his knees, hands on his hips, "You been running from the law long enough son..."

It takes Sam a moment to realise that Dean hasn't been chugging extra strength drain cleaner and is giving him exactly what he's been fantasising about for the last few days.

He stands, calls on all the memories of 'black hats' in every western Dean's ever made him sit through, and sneers, "Looks like you caught me sheriff. Not taking me down without a fight!"

Dean raises his head and smirks, "Hoped you'd say that..."

Closing the door behind him, Dean stalks into the room, long fingers working the buttons on his coat, "There's a way we could work this out. I could pretend I never saw you. Gotta give me something in return though."

Sam's shoulders slam up against the wall and he watches, transfixed, as Dean undoes button after button. Where a shirt should be, there's nothing but bare chest, light dusting of hair covering tanned skin, "Ain't nothing you want I'm gonna be willing to give."

Sam's skin feels like an exposed live wire in the rain, sparks of electricity flashing along every nerve ending until it's almost painful. Not only is Dean not wearing a shirt, he's not wearing chaps either. 

Stood in front of Sam, eyebrows in his hairline, filthy grin plastered across his face, Dean lets the last button slip from it's loop before letting the coat pool at his feet.

As funny as it should be, as laugh your butt off hilarious, there's absolutely nothing amusing about the sight of Dean, completely naked accept for a gun belt and worn leather boots, fine sheen of sweat glistening in the dull lamp light, cock already half hard and resting against his thigh.

Sam's voice catches as he swallows deep and tries to stay in character, "It's this or the cells huh?"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it pretty boy. You never heard the phrase save a horse, ride a cowboy?"

It's scary how well Dean knows him. Sam breaks character for a second and shoots his brother a wide grin. 

Dean's answering smile is just as maniacal as he steps forward, lays his hands on Sam's fly and licks his lips invitingly, "Come on Sammy, can't tell me you've never thought about it. I've seen the way you look at me."

Dean's obviously got more blood flow to the brain because Sam's having real issues thinking up suitable answers when the feel of warm rough fingers brushing against his already painfully hard cock make him buck his hips and groan, "God, sheriff, you do this with all your captures..."

Dean tips his hat back far enough to lean in and not smack Sam in the face and runs the flat of his tongue along his brother's pulse point, "Just the ones that look like they'd ride it like they stole it."

Sam gasps and rolls his shoulders before shoving haphazardly at his own jeans, "Seriously man, you'd make an awful cowboy, the puns alone are too painful for words."

Dean chuckles against Sam's throat and bites down, hard, "Don't be a bitch or I'll get dressed."

Sam finally manages to free himself from the confines of his too tight jeans and shakes his head before adopting a 'Now you got me what ya gonna do with me' look, "Yes sir."

Dean stops attempting to stay in character as he slides his hands across the curve of Sam's ass. His cock is now fully alert and begging to be touched but he's too interested in the way his little brother's Adams Apple bobs furiously every time he catches a glimpse of the holster on his hip.

Stepping back, followed by a frustrated moan from Sam, Dean shucks his boots and flings the hat across the room.

Leaving nothing but his belt and the weight of his glock against his thigh, Dean steps back into Sam's space and grabs at his hips. Sam's skin is slicked with sweat and way above room temperature. The bunch and twist of muscle beneath his hands is almost as addictive as the noises Sam makes when he's about to come.

Dean loves knowing that Sam's visceral reactions to him are innate and ingrained. He could walk in wearing a bin bag and Sam would still want to bend him over and fuck him like it's his last night on earth.

Sam's skin is singing, his whole body is attuned to the feel of Dean's hands at his hips, the knee pressed between his quivering thighs and his cock jumps and spurts pre-come every time Dean digs his nails into soft flesh, "Gonna ride it like you stole it then or what?"

Dean's voice is low and husky as he laughs and Sam's hips respond on instinct. He thrusts against Dean's stomach until his brother has to physically pull back before this ends way quicker than either would like, "Easy there tiger. Turn round, palms flat against the wall."

As Sam does as he's told, Dean grabs the lube out of the bedside draw. Covering three fingers, he lets the sharp bite of slightly too long nails catch against Sam's tight muscles as he runs the tip of one finger around his hole, "What do you want me to do Sammy?"

Sam's breath his coming in short laboured huffs and he's having trouble focusing on Dean's voice. The finger pressing against his ass is both too rough and too gentle all at once. He wants Dean to slam him into the wall, he wants him to take him, take every piece of him and mark him as his own, "Anything...anything you want."

Dean shifts the gun belt slightly, making sure that the muzzle of his glock will press against Sam's ass cheek on every forward thrust. He's got two fingers buried inside his brother up to the knuckles and is crooking them just enough that he manages to catch Sammy's sweet spot, "Dangerous thing to tell a renegade lawman Sammy."

Sam arches his back and slams his forehead against the wall to stop his knees from buckling, "Like to live dangerously. Stop being a pussy and fuck me!"

Dean withdraws his hand, steadies himself at Sam's opening and stills, "Filthy mouth on you...Maybe I should teach you some manners," on the last word Dean starts to rock his hips, letting the head of his cock barely breach Sam's twitching muscles. 

Sam's scrapes his nails down wallpaper as Dean shallow fucks him and has to bite his lip to hold back from begging, "Jesus...De...not enough."

Dean splays a hand across the base of Sam's spine, presses down hard, forcing his brother's ass further into the air so he can watch his cock disappearing with every jerk of his hips, "Patience or I'll hog tie you and fuck your mouth 'til your throat's raw."

Sam's eyes close on the image of Dean forcing his cock between his lips and not being able to touch either himself or his brother and he can't help the whining keen in his voice as he grunts against the still too soft rhythm of Dean's thrusts, "Fucking hell, you trying to make me blow my wad!"

Dean presses his chest into the curve of Sam's back, grabs his shoulder in one hand and snakes the other between his brother's legs, "That would make you hot wouldn't it, dirty little S+M wanna be."

Feeling the reassuring weight of Sam's cock in his palm, as familiar and comforting as the stitching on Baby's steering wheel, Dean strokes the full length as he surges forward and buries himself fully in Sam's grasping heat.

As Dean slams into Sam he uses the wall to press back, tight into the cradle of his brother's thighs. It takes him a second but he realises the cold nudge of metal against his ass cheek is the muzzle of Dean's gun and can't help the groan of appreciation or the almost constant dribble of pre-come now dripping from the tip of his cock to the ratty motel carpet, "Is that...a gun in your pocket, oh god. Or are you just pleased to see me?"

Dean licks the sweat from between Sam's shoulder blades and pistons his hips, fast enough for him to hear the air being forced out of his brother's lungs, "Weak Sammy, I'm almost...Christ, I'm almost ashamed for you."

Sam rotates his hips and locks his elbows to stop from head butting the wall every time Dean slams into him, "You...love...it!"

Dean flexes his fingers squeezes Sam's shaft on every downward stroke, keeping time with his violent thrusts. Sweeping the pad of his thumb across the tip of Sam's weeping cock, he scrapes his teeth against the shoulder muscles bunching in front of his face and bites down.

Sam throws his head back, narrowly missing crushing Dean's nose and groans, loud and long. He can feel every ripple and crease of his brother's cock. Each tiny groove catches against his twitching asshole and the backs of his thighs cramp as he curls his toes into the thinning carpet, "De...I'm gonna...Oh Christ I'm gonna come."

Dean doesn't answer, just grunts and speeds up, not willing to let Sam fall off the edge without him. His belt is digging painfully into his belly and the way Sam squeezes him from tip to base is enough for him to lose all semblance of control.

As his brother's cock jumps and pulses in his hand, hot salty come splattering his knuckles and the wall, Dean cries out and spills himself inside Sam, "Sammy!"

Sam slumps against the wall and lets Dean's weight pull them to the floor. The warm sticky liquid still leaking from between his legs eases the scratch of cheap carpeting against his over sensitised skin and he exhales loudly before twisting round and dragging Dean against his chest, "We're keeping that outfit, you know that right?"

Dean lets Sam cradle him and only vaguely considers making some scathing comment about cuddling before chuckling and shaking his head, "So, that's firemen, psych ward workers, swat team members, priests and cowboys. The dry cleaning costs alone are gonna bankrupt us and we're gonna have no space left in the trunk for normal clothes the rate your uniform kink's are piling up."

The sound of Sam's hand making contact with Dean's thigh can be heard out in the parking lot.


End file.
